


Teen Wolf: True Brit

by mirrorkill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - Canon, Bad Puns, Community: beacon_hills, Crack, F/M, Gen, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorkill/pseuds/mirrorkill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It all starts when Stiles decides they should look for a dead body in the preserve.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Uh, Stiles?" Scott says. "I don't think there's a dead body in this jar of jam."</i></p><p> </p><p>~Alternate universe where everyone's British.~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teen Wolf: True Brit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the AU challenge at [Beacon Hills](http://beacon-hills.livejournal.com) (come join team hunter!)  
> Theron09 gave me the prompt: "Teen Wolf set in Britain".
> 
> Unbeta'd. Because it's just cracky.

It all starts when Stiles decides they should look for a dead body in the preserve.

"Uh, Stiles?" Scott says. "I don't think there's a dead body in this jar of jam."

"It's _Mrs Bridges Scottish Raspberry Preserve,_ " Stiles insists. "I've met Mrs. Bridges. If there's not something fishy in her preserve, I'll be buggered."

"So it's dead body of a _fish_ I'm looking for?" Scott squints at Stiles.

Stiles sighs. "Forget the jam. Let's go stalk my dad."

Scott brightens up. "Is _he_ looking for a dead body?"

Stiles stares. "This is Yorkshire, Scott. Not _Nottingham._ "

Scott sighs. "Believe me, I am grateful for that every day."

* * *

 

A week later a couple of joggers _do_ find a dead body in the woods.

Stiles instantly drags Scott out in the dark to try and find it first. They live in England, so of course it's raining. Scott trudges along the pavement, getting his trainers muddy before they've even left the estate.

"Bloody hate the rain," Scott whines. "Couldn't we have driven?"

Stiles gives him a sad, soggy look. "We're sixteen, moron. We can't drive."

"Oh, yeah. I dunno if I'll even get my provisional license next year," Scott says. "Mum's making noises about getting me a bicycle if I pass my GCSEs."

"But you failed your cycling proficiency test," Stiles says. "I remember. You rode into a wall."

"It just jumped out at me," Scott protests. "Speaking of jumping and other physical activity—"

"No, Scott. C'mon. I'm not going to be a reserve player on the footie team anymore. I _refuse._ "

"I don't mean playing reserve. We could really make the A-team."

"Mate, you're fucking off the charts," Stiles says. "You're an asthmatic. A proper wheezer geezer. I have three left feet."

"Stranger things have happened," Scott stubbornly mutters. He sighs and stops at the edge of the street. Down the street is the biggest woodland area that Beacon Hills has.

Namely, seven oak trees and a broken park bench.

Stiles sighs. There are already four police cars, three ambulances and nearly all of Beacon's Police Department surrounding the trees. "Well, that was a stupid idea," he says. And then yelps. "My dad!" He gives Scott a panicked shove and Scott is knocked over a picket fence to ungainly land in a giant pink hydrangea bush.

* * *

 

Things just get worse from there. PC Stilinski hauls Stiles off back to the house by his ear and Scott has to walk back to his house on his own in the rain and he's pretty miserable enough about that.

And then a fucking wolf chases him and bites him.

"This is _not fucking Nottingham,_ " Scott yells at the furry beast, but the wolf doesn't seem to understand him.

 _No one understands me_ , Scott thinks woefully as he limps home. The teenage over-emotional mental train continues when a wanker in a dark car nearly knocks into him. It's just his bloody luck.

* * *

 

His mum's not back from her night shift at A&E and Scott cleans up his bite as best as he can with some antiseptic cream and plasters. It'll have to do. In fact, it's only when he's trying to convince Stiles in the morning that a wolf bit him that he realises something is terribly wrong.

"Wolves have been introduced in Scotland," Stiles says, "not here."

"Well I've got proof," Scott says. He pulls of his school sweatshirt, undoes his school tie, and lifts up his regulation-white school shirt to reveal the mess of plasters. It's only then that he realises he's used Mr Bump plasters.

Stiles laughs at him so hard that in revenge, Scott points out that Lydia Martin's still ignoring him.

"Not cool, mate. You know I've had a crush on her since Year Three," Stiles pouts.

"We should get to registration," Scott sighs and then reaches in his pocket to check that he has his inhaler to hand into reception.

It's not there.

" _Bollocks,_ " Scott curses.

He probably dropped it in that damn hydrangea bush.

* * *

 

Scott's expecting school to drag.

It does, obviously. Beacon Hills Comprehensive is a sucking whirlpool that draws time into its relentless and inescapable vortex, leaving students stranded in its terrible wake.

But what Scott doesn't expect is the sudden supernatural superhearing.

He rubs at his ears and wonders if his mum is right about the healing powers of Weetabix over Frosted Shreddies. Ugh, she probably _is_ right.

Anyway, it's not until he's eavesdropping on a new girl coming into school who's forgotten to bring her own pen that he realizes that something weird is going on – but hey, at least it's weirdness going on with a cute new student. Her name is Allison and her hair tumbles in effortless waves over her shoulders and her eyes are like someone's stolen the stars from the sky. When she takes the spare seat behind Scott, he catches a whiff of her scent. She smells like sunshine and unicorns.

When Scott offers her his spare pen and she smiles, he feels like he's floating on air.

Maybe this week isn't as rubbish as he thought it was going to be. Well, at least it's gonna be better for Allison than it might be: Mr. Johnson has a stash of _I Love Justin Bieber_ biros for students who forget pens, and that sort of trauma is hard to come back from.

* * *

 

His week is probably still going to be utter rubbish. Scott's new superhearing not only enables him to overhear Allison getting cornered by Lydia and Jackson, but he's also forced to listen in to Lydia and Jackson swapping saliva in the hallway at super-volume.

There's nearly compensation for that trauma when Mr. Harris shouts at them in the hallway and gives them both detention for the too-public display of affection. Jackson's sulks are always beautiful to behold.

Scott wants to go looking for his inhaler but football trials are on and if he misses them, the PE teachers won't let him play at all this term, which is absolutely pants. He sighs and heads to the PE block to change into his PE uniform.

Of course, Mr. Finstock puts him as goalie. Which is so frustrating, because no one's ever made the A-team when put in goal. Scott tries to protest but Finstock shoves him over and Scott trudges miserably over to stand in the middle of the goal.

Allison's standing at the sidelines of the field with Lydia and Scott inwardly cries. It's bad enough that he's about to fail to make the team but Allison's super pretty and she _smiled_ at him. It's the closest Scott's come to positive female interaction since the girl that worked the bakery counter in Sainsbury's gave him a free sample of hot cross bun.

That was four years ago.

Scott's too busy sulking that he nearly misses his first two saves. He's a teenager, he mentally reasons as he catches the balls, he's _allowed_ to sulk in epic disproportion. It's practically expected.

Then he realizes that it's like time is slowing down to let him catch the balls perfectly – even the one Jackson kicks at his _face_ – and even Lydia Martin screaming for him alongside Allison isn't enough to disrupt his calm.

Something's wrong.

It's a sad reflection on Scott's life that he's only super suspicious that something is wrong because his day's going kinda _right._

* * *

 

Stiles doesn't believe that something weird is happening to Scott. Not even when Scott smells the packet of mint-flavoured sweets in his coat pocket. When Scott voices his worry about it being an infection, so maybe he should go to the ER, Stiles makes a joke about lycanthropy.

Scott smacks him and points at the house with the hydrangea bush. "That's where I lost it."

Stiles hurries up to the fence and peers over. "Can't see it at first glance. You'd better go over."

"Or I could _go through the gate,_ " Scott says, pushing said gate open as Stiles puts his leg up on the fence and hauls himself over.

"Or that," Stiles says.

"Or neither option," a man with dark eyebrows and dark clothes and a dark glower says, pushing open the front door. "Get the hell off my lawn, kids."

" _Kids,_ " Stiles howls as he hops back over the fence. "Seriously?"

The guy's response is to throw something at Stiles' head. Stiles ducks and Scott catches it as the guy slams back into the house.

"My inhaler!" Scott says, cuddling it to his cheek. "I know I could get a new one from the doc for free, but mum's disappointed looks are the _worst._ "

"Mate, that was Derek _Hale,_ " Stiles says as they stumble away from the house. "His family died in a house fire like ten years ago."

"That house?" Scott blinks back at it. "But it looks _fine._ "

Stiles stares. "Dude. It got rebuilt. _It's been years._ You think the council would let a burned down house just _stay_ there? All burned down and shit?"

"Yeah," Scott sighs, "that would be pretty mad."

* * *

 

Scott did work experience at the vets in the middle of Year 10 and sometimes they let him come back to help feed the kittens.

His mum says it'll look ace on his CV. Scott'll be lucky to have hands to _write_ a CV if the cats keep acting crazy. They hiss at him and he backs out of the room. Shirley on reception gives him a strange look as he stumbles into the hallway.

While Scott would _love_ to be left alone in the building so no one could see his acts of epic clumsiness but he's sixteen. Only an idiot would leave a sixteen year old alone in an animal hospital.

Someone knocks on the glass door. Scott can't see who it is because the rain's too thick. Shirley sighs and hurries out from behind her counter.

"We're closed," Shirley bellows through the glass. "Sorry! There's an emergency number painted on the sign if you need emergency vet care."

Scott gives Shirley an askance look, because it's pissing it down, but Shirley gives him a flatter look in return and pointedly asks him if he has any work to do. Scott squeaks and hurries back through the door he stumbled through.

He doesn't worry about the person at the door because he nips into the loos for a toilet break, tugs off the mess of plasters to see the damage – and there's nothing there.

The bite's completely healed.

_Weird._

* * *

 

Scott should stop mentally calling things weird. Because life goes _oh, you thought that was weird, huh?_ and throws something even _worse_ in his path.

Worse like one minute Scott was in his bed, having a nice dream involving Little Mix and Katy Perry and several gallons of Strawberry Angel Delight, and the next he's lying on a blanket of wet leaves.

Yep, there's one piece of woodland in the whole of their small town and Scott's somehow sleepwalked himself into it. Man does Scott ever need a holiday. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where he's not _losing his freaking mind._

Scott sighs and clambers to his feet. It looks early. And fuck it's cold – why the hell is he outside not wearing a shirt? Why the hell would he _ever_ be outside not wearing a shirt? It's totally improper. He folds his arms over his chest, desperately trying to conceal his nipples, and starts to stomp out of the small copse of trees.

Only to notice a shadowy form at the base of the nearest tree. Scott stops to contemplate it and then instantly regrets his decision. Because it's the wolf. The wolf that bit him.

Scott discards all attempts at regaining any decency and he lets his arms drop from his chest as he starts legging it, screaming as he runs. Behind him the wolf gives chase. Ugh, Scott is _the_ worst when it comes to cross country. Mostly because of his asthma but also because running around the school field five times is freaking boring.

He pumps his arms harder and spots a wooden fence ahead. Hurtling it, he stumbles and lands in something wet and suspiciously slimy. Scott rolls, smacks into _something_ , and lands on his back, water flowing past his shoulders.

When he looks up, he can see an OAP watering his flowers with a little plastic green watering can. Scott's apparently landed in a paddling pool. And he's currently squashing the side, letting the water flow out.

Scott ungainly gets to his feet. "Um," Scott says, and resists the urge to tell the guy it's not entirely Scott's fault his fall damaged the paddling pool, because _who_ leaves a paddling pool up overnight anyway? "Good morning?"

The OAP stares. Scott winces and decides to just make a run for it.

* * *

 

The weirdness doesn't even stop. Jackson Whittemore pushes Scott into the lockers which are reserved as a perk for Sixth Formers only. Both Scott and Stiles have protested at that – some of the GCSE textbooks are the size of doorsteps and to carry up to _six_ books that size on their backs all day? It has to be illegal somehow.

" _You,_ " Jackson says, "where are you getting your gear, huh?"

"Um," Scott says. "Mum gets my uniform from Asda, but anything I wear after school is from Primark?"

Jackson stares at Scott like he's lost the plot.

It's the first time Scott has ever seen Jackson with an intelligent expression on his face.

* * *

 

During footie practice, Scott's too distracted by Allison's conversation with Lydia about the antisocial vet's practice she went to last night when she found an injured puppy on the pavement to listen to Stiles talking about a wolf. Ugh, whatever. Sometimes Stiles talked and Scott did not listen.

Allison must have been the one Shirley sent away last night. He's kinda miffed – Allison's _well_ fit. That would have been a great opportunity to woo her.

Ah, well. Scott's determined to impress her to try and take her mind off things. By the end of practice and a back-flip where he managed to kick the goal right through Danny's legs into the goal, Allison's sufficiently distracted. When Lydia hands him an invitation to her party, telling him three times that Allison is going to be there, Scott knows there's nothing – weird or otherwise – that can harsh his mood now.

* * *

 

"You can't go to the party," Stiles hisses, throwing a handful of Wikipedia pages at Scott's face.

"Did you seriously print this stuff out?" Scott says. "Ink cartridges aren't cheap, man."

" _That's_ what you choose to focus on? Not the fact that you're a freaking _wild creature of the night_?" Stiles slumps against the wall. "There's nothing I can do to save you. Go. Freaking doom yourself. Whatever."

Scott squints. "Are you trying reverse psychology on me?"

Stiles shrugs. "Is it working?"

"Has it _ever_ worked on me?" Scott asks.

Stiles thinks about it. "There was that time I got you to do my french homework because I told you it was too difficult for your small brain."

Scott makes a wounded sound. "It doesn't matter anyway. You're right. I can't go. The party's too far away and I can't drive. And I'm too skint for a taxi."

Stiles pats his shoulder commiseratively. "C'mon. A round of Mario Kart before you go home?"

Scott peers out the window at the mild rain and sighs, because autumn is the worst season of them all. Next to winter. And spring. And summer. All British weather is absolute pants. "Nah, the streetlamps have gone red. I'd best get home before it's too dark."

* * *

 

Scott _means_ to get home in time, but Stiles wasted so much ink on the printouts that Scott feels obliged to read them, so he trundles along the pavement reading them. It's two blocks away from his house that he realises that he's sweating.

It's one block away that he realises he's panting for breath.

Above him, the full moon glows, hanging heavy in a barely-dark sky. _Something_ ripples through him, dark and more painful than that time with the out-of-date quiche when he got the squirts so bad he thought he was dying. He leans against the nearest garden wall and fails to puke into the gutter. He's overheating and when he tries to shove the Wikipedia printouts into his pockets, they get stuck on his claws.

Wait. _What._

Scott's overcome with sensations – the cold air is too cold on his skin, his eyes burn like someone's set a fire behind his eyeballs, and he can hear the sound of Mrs. Williamson from down the street dragging her shopping trolley behind her. The _creak-creak-creak_ of the wheels as she drags it along. The _bump-ba-bump_ of her frail heartbeat. Scott's teeth feel too big for his mouth; he cuts his tongue against an unfamiliar sharp point and blood floods his mouth.

 _Blood._ Saliva floods his mouth and Scott feels disconnected. Like someone else is clawing up inside his chest saying _blood_ and _power_ and _take_ and _mine._ He's on all fours before he knows it, readying to leap, readying to find that heartbeat and—

There's a sound of clattering, a small scream, and Scott stumbles upright. He hears the sound of Mrs. Williamson running away and at first he's disappointed. "Where is she?"

The answer comes in a whisper, "She's safe from you." Squinting into the darkness, Scott sees a shadow move in the distance and the shadow resolves itself into Derek Hale. Scott realises who it is just in time for Derek to shoot forwards, grabbing him and pushing him up against a nearby fence.

Scott opens his mouth to yell at Derek, but Derek turns his face away, cocking his head like he can hear something. "Ssshh," Derek murmurs and frowns. "They're already here! Run!"

Derek throws him away with a shove and takes off running. Scott realises he should copy a moment too late. Because something flashes across his vision, burning his eyes, turning his vision into lightning and chaos. He stumbles and turns – only for a burning sensation to rip through his arm and he stumbles back into the fence.

It's not a burn. It's something that's gone _into_ him. Something sharp and long and oh god, oh freaking _hell_ it's an arrow, someone's shot him with a freaking _arrow,_ Scott's gonna hurl for sure. After a whole lifetime of being glad he doesn't live in Nottingham, the _murder capital of the UK,_ Scott's only bloody gone and been shot by Robin Hood. It's bloody typical.

The blurriness of his vision seeps away and the world turns red in some weird hyper-efficient sight. He tugs at the arrow, the tip embedded in the wood, and three figures emerge from the top of the street, aiming crossbows in his direction.

Scott inhales sharply, his mouth dry with fear, and a little bit of relief. Robin Hood never had a crossbow. If Scott's going to die tonight it's not in a completely undignified way. It's as he's warily watching them that a blur barrels into two of the hunters. It's Derek, Scott realises, and he watches as Derek throws two of the hunters to one side before heading over to Scott and snapping the arrow pining Scott's arm to the fence.

Scott doesn't even need Derek's panicked instruction – he runs from the remaining hunter's chilly gaze and wicked crossbow like he's never run before. His limbs feel more powerful but also like they have a core of molten lead and Scott can almost swear he can _feel_ the moonlight from the full moon on his skin as he and Derek flee side-by-side.

They stop at what's probably a safe distance by the way Derek's shoulders relax. Scott collapses against a rubbish bin and is relieved to feel his claws and teeth retracting. He touches his arm in wonder, but there's only a scratch where the arrow had punctured right through his arm to the fence behind.

"They're hunters," Derek explains, "the kind that have been hunting us for centuries."

"Because of you," Scott hisses. "Because of what you _turned me into_."

Derek steps in closer, jaw jutting mulishly. "You shouldn't deny your new abilities. The bite is a gift."

"Then I hope you bloody kept the receipt," Scott says. "Wanker," he adds, because it makes him feel better.

"No _thank you_? I saved your life back there."

"After putting it in danger in the first place?" Scott huffs. " _Cheers._ From the heart, mate."

Derek sighs loudly and jabs his finger into Scott's chest. "You'll need me if you want to learn how to control your new powers." He makes a weird grimace which is probably some sort of attempt at a freaky werewolf smile. "You and me, Scott, we're brothers now."

As Derek stalks away from him, Scott scowls. "I think you're too old for my mum to adopt you," he calls after Derek.

Running away from hunters has kinda left Scott in the middle of nowhere. Thankfully his whole _town_ is nowhere so he's not lost and Scott knows the backstreets. He hurries home, cursing under his breath that they're still too young to learn to drive, because Stiles _totally_ would have had to drive him home after this. It's the least he could do after being indirectly responsible for leaving Scott to be bitten.

He ran a long way with Derek, though, and it's the small hours when Scott exhaustedly climbs into bed. He's absolutely knackered but he's alive. There's some comfort in that. It's not like things could get any worse than being chased by people who wanted him dead.

* * *

 

Scott's gotta stop thinking stupid stuff. Stiles would agree with him on that resolution.

After school, Allison catches up with him and tells him how sorry she is that he couldn't come to the party. It sounds like it was a dumb party, if Scott's honest – all twiglets and party rings and fizzy pop, because Lydia's only sixteen and her parents might be divorcing, but they weren't going to let a hundred sixteen year olds get drunk.

Especially not on a school night.

"Maybe I'll see you at the next one," Allison says, nervously fiddling with her school tie. "I'd like that," Scott says.

"I gotta go. My dad's waiting. But… I'd like it too." Allison smiles at him. Her smile is beautiful and he traps the memory of it in his brain, holds it in his mind while he turns to go back to school because it's footie practice time. Then something catches in his nostrils.

A scent. A familiar scent. A scent that sends him instantly back to last night and the freaking arrow and the hunters.

Scott turns slowly to see Allison smiling at a man in a burgundy family car.

The same man that _shot_ him last night.

Allison's father is the mental crossbow-toting werewolf-hunting Robin Hood.

_Allison's father wants him dead._

And that's even before he knows Scott wants into Allison's knickers like yesterday.

Scott's so dead. Dead, dead, _dead._

Well, at least on the bright side, if he's dead he won't have to do his maths homework. It's only a small comfort but Scott will take it.


End file.
